


DA Drabbles

by neko_fish



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-02-03 12:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12748431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neko_fish/pseuds/neko_fish
Summary: Dragon Age drabbles from wherever





	1. Fenhawke: Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Random subject generator: Write about a proposal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place between Fenris’ loyalty mission and Meredith being a loony.

Fenris walks in to see Hawke lying on the floor. He would’ve been alarmed if the man wasn’t on his back with his arms folded neatly on his chest and his dog draped across his stomach. Lying comfy in his robes, Hawke looks deep in thought and neither he nor his dog react to Fenris’ presence.

“Hawke? Are you alright?” he asks warily.

Blinking, Hawke finally turns his head and sees him for the first time. “Oh, Fenris. Sorry, I didn’t notice you there.”

The dog wags its stumpy tail in greeting.

He frowns. “Why are you on the floor?”

“I was going to go change but then I started thinking and then I got tired of standing so here I am, thinking on the floor instead,” Hawke answers lightly, gesturing at the carpet.

Fenris smiles softly despite himself. “So this is what happens when you try to think. I can see why you do not do it often.”

Chuckling, Hawke shrugs. “If I spent all my time thinking like this, nothing would ever get done around here.”

He lowers himself down next to the man, close enough that their sides are touching. “What were you thinking about?”

“A little bit of everything, I suppose. I don’t remember what the first thought was, but just now, I was thinking about my parents,” Hawke tells him.

Fenris is no stranger to tragedy, though he has never met someone whose life and soul are as coloured by it as Hawke. Losing his home and his family one by one, he doesn’t understand where the man continues to draw his strength from. Not knowing what to say, he reaches down and takes Hawke’s hand.

Without hesitation, Hawke laces their fingers together and squeezes. “Thank you.”

“I haven’t done anything that warrants your gratitude,” he answers.

Hawke glances at him and says quietly, “You’re here. That’s something.”

“Oh.” He turns his head to return the gaze. “In that case, I should thank you for being here as well. I don’t know what would’ve become of my life if you did not come to Kirkwall.”

A smile. “You’d still be painting your walls with expensive wine.”

“I emptied the cellar already. I’d use ale from the Hanged Man but it would probably corrode the walls,” he deadpans.

“A small price to pay for such artistry,” Hawke teases. “You can always come live with me if the roof collapses.”

He scoffs. “That’s a tempting offer what with such plush carpets.”

“It’s comfy, right? The house is too big for just one anyway.”

Fenris remembers the night Leandra died. He remembers how hollow the mansion felt, how cold it was despite all the lit fire places. He remembers Hawke curled in on himself and shivering despite being warm to the touch.

That Hawke can be this morose does not surprise him, but the idea that this may be a regular occurrence when the man is alone is disconcerting.

“I will have to consider it,” he says, surprised to find that he means it.

Hawke smiles. It’s worn and tired but soft and so beautiful. “Thank you.”

He averts his gaze. “I know it can’t be easy.”

“No, but it’s easier with you here.”

Fenris gives the man’s hand a squeeze. “Then I will stay for as long as you’ll have me.”

Chuckling, Hawke brings his hand up to his lips for a kiss. “You do realize that that means you’ll be stuck with me forever—not just here on the floor, but in life in general.”

He smiles. “I think I can live with that.”


	2. DA2: Aveline’s Life is Hard

“Aveline!”

She sighs and crosses her arms in preparation of whatever ordeal is about to be hurled at her. Ever since that first argument she broke up between Wesley and Bethany during their escape, for whatever reason, she’s become the designated conflict resolver of their ragtag group.

“What is it now?”

“Carver won’t come with me to Darktown to break into our old mansion to find our grandfather’s will!” Hawke whines.

“I have better things to do! You’re Mother’s favourite anyway, so you do it!” Carver protests.

Hawke frowns, the atmosphere suddenly heavy. “Bethany was Mother’s favourite. You know that.”

Eyes watering up, Carver stares at his feet and lets out a huff. “Bethany was everyone’s favourite.”

Aveline’s shoulders slump, her gaze softening as the brothers stand in sullen silence, both sore from their argument. “Carver, go with your brother. It’ll be good for the both of you,” she says gently.

She hates that she’s not only condoning the break-in but actively encouraging it.

“But Aveline!”

All she has to do is arch a brow and Carver sulks in defeat.

–

As their little group grows in size, so does the frequency of the ‘Kirkwall Trials’ as Varric likes to call them.

“Aveline! Fenris won’t stop calling me ‘abomination’!”

“You  _are_  one!”

She rubs her temples. “Fenris, call Anders something nicer.”

Fenris crosses his arms and scowls. “Fine.  _Mage_ ,” he hisses with all the venom thrumming through his system. In that way, ‘demon’ sounds almost friendly in comparison.

Anders arches a brow at her.

Aveline shrugs. “It’s nicer than ‘abomination’.”

–

The trials don’t stop even after she gets promoted to guard-captain.

“Aveline! Tell Varric to stop!”

“Or maybe you can tell Rivaini to stop?”

She raises a hand to stop them both. “That’s enough, whatever you’re doing, Isabela.”

Pouting, Isabela places her hands at her hips. “You don’t even know what I was doing yet…or who.”

Hawke grins and gives her a fist bumps.

“It’s usually your fault,” Aveline reasons. “Except when it’s Hawke’s.”

Varric holds out a hand. “Ha! My exact words! Pay up.”

Sighing, both Hawke and Isabela hand him a sovereign. “Spoilsport.”

Some days Aveline wonders why she puts up with them.

–

“Aveline!”

She looks up to see Isabela standing there with an uncharacteristically solemn frown. At once, she’s on guard and standing up. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Hawke. His mother’s gone missing. Everyone’s out looking for her.”

Without hesitation, she grabs her sword. “Let’s go.”

–

For a while, things almost go back to normal after the whole Qunari fiasco.

Almost.

“Aveline, come quick! Merrill’s planning on talking to a demon!” Anders cries.

She slams her fists down on her desk. “For Maker sake! She was supposed to be the good one! ”

–

When the battle with Meredith ends and the crew split up, each going their separate way, Kirkwall feels like a shell of its former self. Then one day, Aveline receives a letter from Hawke.

‘ _Aveline! Anders won’t stay in hiding! ’_

She scowls and sends a letter back.

‘ _Anders, if you don’t go back into hiding, I will come out there and find you and seal you up in a cave myself.’_

Aveline doesn’t hear about any further trouble after that.

–

Then the sky rips open and Hawke leaves to help the newly found Inquisition on his own. He somehow survives (because of course he does) and their little group starts to reform in Kirkwall.

“Aveline! Tell Hawke he was an idiot for going to Skyhold alone!”

“Tell Fenris red lyrium is especially dangerous to him, which is why I made him stay! It was a perfectly valid reason even though I missed him terribly!”

She stares at them. “Have you two been going at it since Weisshaupt?”

Hawke grins, slinging an arm casually around the other’s shoulders. “No, no, we decided to set it aside until we got back. The trip back was lovely, by the way. We even stopped for little cakes.”

“There was little point in continuing the argument when we needed a neutral third party to be the judge,” Fenris elaborates, his arms crossed. “And we  _were_ supposed to bring some of those cakes back, but Hawke ate them all in a drunken stupor.”

“Hey, you helped! You ate all the honeyed ones, remember?”

“They were rather good,” Fenris concedes.

“We’ll have to get more next time.”

Fenris arches a brow. “Next time? We’re still not finished fighting about _this_ time.”

Hawke quickly kisses him on the cheek. “Yes, well, when we're finished with this. Next time, we’ll go together. Promise.”

Aveline stifles a sigh. “Maker, what did I do to deserve this?”

From her side, Donnic laughs. “Admit it, you missed them.”

She glares at him. “You laugh now, but just wait until Isabela docks next week.”

"Oh, she'll be docking alright," Hawke calls out before running off to find Varric for a fist bump.

–

As the world begins to repair itself, Varric becomes the viscount of Kirkwall but the peace doesn’t keep. It never does.

Not that anyone ever expected it to with  _Varric_ as viscount.

“Aveline!  _Viscount Tethras_  won’t let me pay my property tax!” Hawke shouts, storming into the office.

This statement, she was not expecting.

She blinks. “What now?”

Varric scowls. “Stupid Bran and his big mouth. You didn’t even know that was a thing!”

“Well, I do now and I demand you let me pay it like a normal citizen!”

“Hawke, you’re not a normal citizen! You’ve done more than enough for Kirkwall! Just having you around drives our tourism up! Let those other moots pay!”

Shaking his head, Hawke crosses his arms. “No, I’m an adult and I want to pay my taxes, Varric!”

“Maker’s breath, you’re only saying that because everyone else is doing it!”

Aveline glances pointedly over at Donnic. “With these giant babies around, you still want children?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus:
> 
> "Aveline, Hawke brought his dog to the Rose again last night!"
> 
> She scrubs her face with her hand. "Hawke, we've talked about this. I don't care if it's for a mission..."
> 
> Merrill blinks. "What? Oh, no, it wasn't a problem at all! Everyone loved the dog! We had a great time even though we lost Isabela half way through. You should've been there!"


	3. Pavellan: Climbing Instructor!AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Climbing Instructor!AU because the thought of the quiz being a climbing instructor was the funniest AU I could think of
> 
> [My quiz](http://selfish-cat.tumblr.com/tagged/my-quiz) for those curious.

“Vishante kaffas, Sera. No.”

“C’mon, Dorian, you promised I could pick wherever so I picked here, yeah?”

He massages his temples and stifles a sigh. “I was thinking more along the lines of the next tavern because we were _drinking_ , not… _this_ ,” he says, gesturing at the sign at the entrance.

_Reach for the skies at Skyhold!_

“Rock climbing? Really?” He holds his hand out and examines them. “Have you seen my nails? I finally got them done to get Vivienne off my back.”

Sera blows him a raspberry. “Yeah, well, suck it. I won our bet fair and square and I want to come here so here we are. It’s grand ‘cause I know people who work here so come on already!”

Dorian glances up and mutters to himself, “How was I supposed to know you’d be able to eat a pie the size of your face in under half an hour? Where does it all go? Is it an elvhen secret?”

Bouncing on the ball of her feet impatiently, Sera decides to take matters into her own hands and pulls him through the doors. “How about you stop whining and come on in already? I want to see if any of my friends are working!”

Inside, he sees walls upon walls of artificial cliff faces covered in colourful climbing holds. “Alright, here I am,” he says, spreading his arms. “I’ve accompanied you to this place and fulfilled my half of the wager.”

“Don’t be such a sore loser—hey there you are! I was hoping to catch you! Love seeing you, yeah?” Sera suddenly shouts, throwing herself at a nearby employee.

He has half a mind to be embarrassed but then remember that they regularly drink together and something like this doesn’t even make top 20 on the list of mortifying things he has witnessed and/or taken part in. Luckily, the employee clearly knows Sera and isn’t fazed by her approach. Instead, Dorian hears a warm laugh. “Sera! What brings you here?”

“I won a bet and wanted to come climb a bit. All’s good, right? Is Cassandra in? I promised her a rematch and now’s feeling pretty good. Oh, and I dragged a sore loser in with me.”

“Cassandra’s teaching right now but she should be done soon if you want to go warm up first.” The employee turns around and Dorian can feel his jaw go a little slack at the way the intricate, bold lines of the man’s tattoo highlighting his amber eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

Dorian clears his throat and composes himself. “No need to apologize. It’s perfectly reasonable that you couldn’t see me on account of Sera taking a running jump at you. Dorian Pavus at your service.”

She shoots him a knowing look and shakes her head in exasperated amusement. “Not so sore all of a sudden, huh? Whatever. You do your jousting. I’m going to go find Cassandra.”

Watching her take off, the man turns back to him with an arched brow. “Jousting?”

“As one does,” he glances down at his name tag, “Instructor Lavellan.”

Lavellan laughs and shakes his head. “Just Mahanon or Non is fine. Any friend of Sera is a friend of mine. I hope you weren’t looking for climbing lessons because you’ll have to wait for Cassandra to finish her rematch if that’s the case.”

He arches a brow. “You can’t climb but you work at a rock climbing establishment?”

A rueful smile and shrug. “I got the job through a friend. Small hills are about the extent of my climbing prowess and even then it can be pretty iffy. Mostly, I’m just here to help belay the kids.”

Dorian leans forward and shoots Lavellan a winning smile. “Perhaps it’s a good thing I’m not here for lessons then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun story: I was volunteering one time and I was supposed to belay this kid, but as he came down, I flew up. It took 2 people holding me down for the kid the descend
> 
> Also, longer Pavellan fic to come!


	4. DA2: Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote up something quickly because I've been thinking about Anders

Anders curls up against the wall of the cave. How many months has it been since he started hiding away out here? How many years?

Justice has quieted down to a soft hum in the back of his mind. At some point, he’s convinced himself that this is just. For what he did, perhaps this is a more fitting punishment than death. 

Every day, he expects them to show up. A vague and menacing ‘them’. Be it templars or an angry mob, it always ends the same way. 

Normally, it’s just Hawke and the dog, sometimes accompanied by Fenris, with food and news of the outside world growing ever bleaker. And always, “You don’t need to do this to stay hidden, Anders. You fought so hard for freedom and here you are, locking yourself away.”

Today, it changes to “Hey, there’s going to be a conclave held at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Maybe things will finally change.”

The next day, Justice stirs and he knows something’s changed. Then Hawke shows up empty-handed and looking uncharacteristically distraught. “So I take back everything I said. There’s a literal hole in the sky now.”

Anders gets up and stumbles his way outside.

It’s blinding at first but there it is, the Breach looming ominously over them.

He starts venturing out more after that. Fighting demons and healing the wounded, it brings a sense of purpose back into his life. No one looks him lingers long enough to look him in the face. Suddenly, he’s nothing more than a nameless healer again. It doesn’t make up for his deeds, but it’s more just to help those in need than to suffer in the dark, he reasons.

One day, Fenris shows up alone with the dog whining softly behind him and his heart drops.

“Where’s Hawke?”

The elf sits next to him and curls up, tucking his head between his knees. “Skyhold.”

The two of them take up fighting demons and slavers back to back after that. He can hear the Calling and Fenris can hear the red lyrium growing out of mutated Templars, but neither of them leave, always looking out for a raven in the sky or some surfacer dwarf to come bearing news.

Days and months go by.

They hear endless news of the Inquisitor’s progress but nothing of the Champion.

They’ve just finished clearing out an old dock when they hear, “Hello, boys.”

Anders lowers his staff and blinks. “Isabela?”

Isabela smiles and takes off her large, feathered hat with a flourish. “The one and only. And with excellent company!”

She steps to the side to reveal large eyes and a familiar smile. “Fenris! Anders! By the Creators, you two look terrible! Oh, I’m sorry, that was rude of me, wasn’t it? I meant, you two look good for…for you? I’ll just stop now. Aveline sends her regards, by the way.”

The dog barks happily and runs to greet them.

“Why are you here?” Fenris asks, putting his sword away.

“To gather my crew for a grand adventure,” Isabela says.

Anders frowns. “Grand adventure? Where are you going that’s so dangerous?”

“To find our mighty Champion, of course.” Isabela pulls a piece of paper out from the front of her shirt and waves it at them. “Varric and Little Hawke will join us later. So, who feels like going to Weisshaupt?”

Fenris immediately brushes past him. “Let’s go.”

Pausing, he glances back towards the hillside where his cave lies tucked out of sight.

“Anders, are you coming?”

Fingers tightening around his staff, he turns around and joins them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's an unspoken agreement that the one with the best hat will be the news bearer for better or for worse. 
> 
> DA4 Trailer: The Kirkwall crew running for their lives as Weisshaupt explodes behind them


	5. Pavellan: First Thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit from something I found and probably won’t continue

His first impression of the Herald of Andraste is a little underwhelming.

Sure, he knew to expect an elf, but he wasn't sure what kind of elf to expect. He's seen slaves and servants in Tevinter, shy, humble things, everywhere at once but rarely noticed. He's heard tales of the wild savages down in the south, tearing out goodly humans’ throats and stealing babies from their beds.

With so many mixed messages, in his mind, he's blended the whole affair up into an image of a timid but bloodthirsty slave with markings, and from there, it evolves into something wilder: a tall and grizzled, barely clothed savage with tree bark for skin and perfumed hair (but also an excellent cook).

So when the chantry doors open and a small party comes storming in to his aid, his eyes first land on the large, muscular figure swinging his axe around. But then he notices the horns and his eyes move on. Human woman mage, no. Elf but also female, so no. That only leaves the last person, who is currently wiping his blades off on a fresh corpse’s jacket, possibly in an act of casual desecration.

Dorian’s first thoughts are not 'Oh, how darling. I must protect him,’ or 'His absence will cause me a great amount of pain and I would die for him,’ and it certainly isn’t ‘This brave, horrendously stupid man will be the death of me one day, but preferably not until we are old and grey.’

Instead, Dorian’s first thought is 'Those shoulders are awfully slender for someone who's expected to carry the weight of the world on them.’

(He later learns that Lavellan’s first thoughts of him were ‘Those robes look far too expensive to be a slaver’s. I suppose I should help’.)

There's no divine radiance, no cherry red sign pointing at the elf saying ‘Holiness Here!’—just a weary, exasperated sigh as though the day’s been long enough despite it having just started.

Lovely.

The elf doesn't lower his head and avert his gaze in submission, and neither does he snarl and skitter up the walls on all fours. He just stands there, proud and unyielding in a perfectly mortal way despite the glowing green maw on his hand that can apparently close rifts.

Then those eyes hone in on him and his breath gets caught in his throat for a moment. They're not the eyes of a gracious, all-forgiving herald, but rather, a Dalish hunter sizing up a potential threat. Though, given that they came by only to find Redcliffe swarming with indentured mages and a Tevinter magister in charge, Dorian can hardly blame him.

Paying this no regard (he's seen nastier glares walking through the streets at home), he takes a step forward to take a closer look at that magical hand.

“Fascinating. How does it work exactly?”


	6. Pavellan: Chasind Cola

Dorian wipes the sweat off his brow. He’s always considered himself good with the heat, but this is ridiculous. With the sun pulsing in the sky, doing its best to roast every last inhabitant of Val Royeaux alive, all he wants to do is cross this stretch of grueling, shade-less square and find shelter (and Felix) from the heat on the other side.

Heaving another sigh, he wonders for the umpteenth time why his friend couldn’t pick a different university to attend. Perhaps one in a more temperate city and far less Orlesian.

In his hurry, he doesn’t notice another person walking towards him and runs into them so hard, the stranger spins around at the impact with a yelp. Quickly turning around, he sees that it’s one of those tattooed elves—a Dalish?

Jet black hair and golden eyes, the elf scowls at him. Before Dorian can apologize, the elf narrows his eyes and suddenly looks pleasantly surprised. “Oh, _there_ you are!”

He arches a brow, baffled. “I beg your pardon?”

Slinging his bag to the front, the elf starts rummaging through it, muttering, “Yeah, I’ve been looking all over for you to return this—” he cuts himself off with a couple of foreign sounding curses. Dorian manages to catch a glimpse of the inside of the bag, lined to the brim with an assortment of items ranging from rocks to a helmet. “Aha! I’ve been trying to return _this_ to you,” the stranger exclaims, pulling out a bottle from deep within and handing it over.

Stupefied, Dorian takes the bottle and watches the elf somehow close up his bag and walk away with a pleased grin and a wave. It’s only when a familiar voice suddenly calls out to him that he snaps out of his trance. “Dorian? Are you alright? That was quite a collision. What did he give you?”

He looks down. It’s a bottle of Chasind Cola; he recognizes the tagline “ _Taste the Wilderness_ ” instantly. It also gained popularity with a recent marketing campaign that went viral across Thedas for its customized labels. The bottle is lukewarm and a little scratched up from being tossed around in that bag of _stuff_ for who knows how long, and he still doesn’t understand why it was given to him.

And then he turns the bottle and reads,

_Asshole Mage_

It startles a laugh out of him.

Honestly, what kind of horrendously petty person would carry something like this around in preparation for this exact scenario? And he looked so _pleased_ with himself too. Of all the ridiculous things…

Dorian looks down at the bottle again and grins.

“Tell me, Felix, how does one go about locating a specific elf in this city? There's a favour I must return.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going through a bit of a slump right now (and a horrible heat wave). I thought of this idea and went 'hmm, who is the pettiest person I have in my arsenal right now?' and of course it was Non lol
> 
> Dorian will eventually find Non and corner him and gift him with a 'Petty Elf' bottle


	7. Pavellan: Inventory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I think about the inventory system in Dragon Age a lot

“Amatus. No.”

“But…”

“No. Absolutely not.”

Lavellan’s shoulders sag in disappointment even as he lowers the two-handed axe to the ground. It's a wonder he’s even able to pick it up; the head alone must weigh just as much if not more than the elf. “But Josephine said I was allowed up to 75 items.”

“Reasonably sized items, perhaps,” Dorian says, eyeing the weapon. “Your undead horse might accidentally lob a limb off carrying that. What would you even do with that ridiculous thing?”

“Give it to Bull,” Lavellan says as though it was obvious.

Dorian arches a brow pointedly. “That's what you said about the last three axes and what did you end up doing with them?”

The elf sulks. “I sold them because Bull already had something better.” When he doesn't look away, Lavellan sighs, “And this one probably won't be better than what he currently has. But we could sell it! I bet we'd get a good price for it!”

He pauses and considers the situation before asking, “Amatus, have you always collected items on the go?”

“Yes? Why?”

“I just thought the Dalish were supposed to be nomadic. How did you ever get anywhere with this habit of yours?” Dorian asks.

Lavellan ponders the question for a moment. “Well, we'd have aravel to store our things. The hunting party had its own that we'd take around. We'd split it into sections for herbs, meat, furs, and weapons and armour. We'd collect all the weapons and see if any of them were suitable for other clan members, and if they weren't, we'd move them to the—”

“Section for trash?”

Laughing good naturedly, Lavellan shakes his head. “Excuse _you_ , we called them ‘valuables’. Things that we could sell for money.”

Dorian huffs. “Ah, so there _is_ a system to your chaos.”

“Yes, it's just a little more difficult to show when I have a horse and not an aravel. If we run into any Dalish, I'll show you.”

\--

The Exalted Plains offers him the opportunity to see an actual Dalish clan but not very much beyond their main camp. They first run into hunting party off a path leading away from the battlements. After fighting off a group of undead, Lavellan happily goes to greet the hunters.

After exchanging pleasantries, he waves Dorian over towards the aravel triumphantly.

Peering over the top of the wooden cart, he can see that the items inside have been loosely organized into piles, some easier to classify than others.

“Look, weapons, armour, accessories, upgrades, crafting material, food, and _valuables_ ,” Lavellan says, pointing at each pile.

He lets out an affectionate sigh. “Yes, yes, you've made your point. _But,_ as fascinating a cultural exchange as this is, the fact still stands that Boggy the Undead Horse cannot walk straight when you pile mauls onto its back.”

Somewhere behind them, Boggy makes a noise that lands firmly somewhere between trumpeting and wheezing.

Brows furrowing, the elf studies his horse and crosses his arms in thought. Then suddenly, he straightens as if struck by a moment of brilliance. “What if I give it more carrying pouches to help distribute the weight more evenly?”

“This is the man I love and would give my life for,” Dorian mutters under his breath with an exaggerated sigh. More clearly, he shakes his head and says, “No. Absolutely not.”

Lavellan frowns. “But…”

“Amatus. No.”


	8. Pavellan: Literacy

“Cassandra?”

The Seeker stands up and puts her sword away, immediately erasing the last trace of evidence that she'd been training for over an hour already.

Lavellan faintly recalls the sweat he worked up trying to climb a small and shallow—yet tricky hill in the Hinterlands and wonders for the umpteenth time why they didn't just make this righteous rock of a woman the leader instead of him.

“What is it?” she asks.

He rubs the back of his neck a little sheepishly. “Would you happen have any material I could use to practice my letters? Books, I mean.”

Cassandra arches a brow. “If you are looking to practice reading, we have an entire library here. Two, if I'm not mistaken.”

Waving the idea away, Lavellan replies, “They're all books on history and magic and whatever research people do here. I can't practice if I fall asleep less than a page in.”

She blinks. “True, but why would you come to me?”

“Dorian suggested it. He said you had books I might find more interesting?”

Suddenly, a tint of red runs up her cheeks and she stutters, “Wh-what? That's preposterous! I have no such thing!”

It's his turn to blink. “What about that book you're always reading during your free time?”

“No! You can't!” she shouts.

“Why? Are the words particularly difficult?” Lavellan asks a little warily.

Cassandra shakes her head. “No, if anything, it's an easy read but you're the _Inquisitor_! I couldn't!”

His brows furrow in confusion. “I don't understand. If it's an easy read, then it sounds fine. And if you can spend so much time reading it, it's probably interesting, right?”

“It is, but it's not exactly highbrow literature,” the Seeker tries. “Josephine won't approve.”

“I think she'd disapprove of it more when she tries to get me to read over another treaty. I don't want to rely on someone else to read reports to me.”

Relenting a little, Cassandra frowns. “I'm sure you can ask Sera to give you some of his other books to read.”

“Sera? Like that book of dirty limericks she got from Varric?”

“Point taken. It was a poor example,” she mutters.

His shoulders sag. “Look, it's fine if you don't want to. I'll go ask someone else.”

“Wait,” Casandra says, stepping forward. “Why do you want to practice your letters so suddenly?”

Lavellan glances around and admits quietly, “I wanted to exchange letters with my clan. I want to be able to write to them and read their replies without someone there reading their words for me, that's all.”

He watches her glance upward and sigh loudly. “Maker preserve me.”

\--

“‘...and he leans down and grabs her heaving, pendulous breasts in his thick, gnarled hands, skin rough from years of battle and…’”

Dorian puts his book down, affronted. “What are you reading—is that _Swords and Shields_? Never mind what. _Why_ are you reading that trash?”

He manages to stifle his snickers and says, “You told me to go ask Cassandra for a book to read, remember?”

Eyebrows raised, he runs a hand through his hair in exasperation. “And I said ‘Stop. That was a joke. Don't read anything she offers’ literally right after, _remember_?”

“No,” Lavellan replies, a teasing smile on his lips. “Do you want me to read you another passage?”

“I will throw myself out of this window if you do,” Dorian threatens. “Varric's written several perfectly decent books, why did you have to read the poorly written smut?”

He shrugs. “But it’s got all sorts of horses in the story.”

“Horses?”

Grinning, Lavellan clears his throat and reads, “‘“Oh yes,” he screams, tossing his head back like a magnificent steed. He continues thrusting like a stallion and that's not the only horse-like feature he had, if you get what I mean.’”

Mouth agape, Dorian narrows his eyes. “It doesn't actually say that, does it? That was _terrible_. Wait a second, come over here and let me read that.”

\--

A week later, Lavellan returns to Cassandra and asks for the next installment of the series. She blinks. "You enjoyed it? Truly?"

He shrugs. "Sure? Dor—I mean, _I_ am curious to know what happens next."

She practically throws the next two books at him.


End file.
